


idealism sits in prison

by shockvaluecola



Series: i slithered here from eden [3]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Sex, Consensual Non-Consent, Cunnilingus, Frottage, Gentle Dom Eliot Waugh, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Marking, Oral Sex, Rimming, Rough Oral Sex, Safewords, Sexual Roleplay, Trans Male Character, Transgender
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:54:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27186862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shockvaluecola/pseuds/shockvaluecola
Summary: "So what kind of wild are we talking here? Standard whips and chains?""This is so fucking precious, actually." Eliot turned to look at Margo, with a face like a baby had just done something unbearably cute. "He has a vampire kink."
Relationships: Margo Hanson & Eliot Waugh, Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Series: i slithered here from eden [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1967311
Comments: 22
Kudos: 80
Collections: The Magicians Harvest Spectacular





	idealism sits in prison

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome! We are back to the porny bits! As always the author notes from the first fic in this series still apply, etc. There are some things I couldn't quite tag for that may be a concern, none of it outside the expected kinks you'd find in a vampire roleplay, but there's some mention of blood and some physical fake-struggling to go with the light consent play. It's clear the whole time that this is all for play and there's plenty of checking in, et cetera. It didn't feel right to put the noncon warning on this, but it didn't really feel right to say no warnings apply, either, so "Choose not to use" seemed like the best option.
> 
> I was bullied into waiting to contribute to the Harvest event by sylph in the P&P discord. Thank you to Rubick and redtoblack for beta-ing!
> 
> This fic was made a moodboard by the incomparable stormcoming!
> 
> [](https://stormscoming.dreamwidth.org/file/5503.jpg)

Eliot flipped lackadaisically through his closet, regretting deeply that they'd only managed to get their shit together on the actual day of Halloween, because Quentin's _delectable_ little fantasy was officially out of season now. But, while Eliot made many sacrifices for fashion, fuck if _good sex_ was going to be one of them. Besides that, it still fit the mood, right? Eliot figured he had until Thanksgiving, when everything went sincerely homey and warm and Happy Holidays-like, where he could spin this as the broody, thoughtful kind of vampire story, the dark days of autumn with everything dying around them and it being a metaphor for the ephemerality of the world while he himself was everlasting -- that kind of shit.

Quentin had not indicated that he cared about, like, _backstory_. He was definitely the kind of nerd who _might_ , though, and even if he didn't, Eliot had too goddamn much drama training to let such a potentially robust improv exercise go to waste. While Quentin would definitely, clearly...probably be happy with just a flick of black eyeliner and a lot of hickies in the morning, Eliot wanted to _inhabit_ it, to be able to have answers if Quentin asked questions.

He wanted to make it so goddamn good for Quentin.

Eliot plucked out a dark green shirt, tilted his head, and tossed it onto the "maybe" pile growing on his bed. The first step was seeing what kind of costume he could put together -- he didn't want to get invested in a concept and then not be able to bring it to life the way he wanted. Better to see what he was working with and let inspiration flow from that, and if what he had wasn't good enough, he could supplement. His wardrobe needed some updating anyway. The leaves were only just changing at Brakebills, with the fucked up seasons, and Eliot wasn't too proud to buy some fall fashion on clearance.

He was well aware of the term 'honeymoon phase,' even though he hadn't really expected to ever be applying it to himself. Regardless, Eliot intended to ride this out as hard and long as possible. Quentin just... _deserved_ it, this beautiful boy with the sad eyes and the golden heart and the body that betrayed him, every day, by not being what he needed it to be.

Eliot turned and picked up the green shirt from the maybe pile, moving it placidly to the probably-not dresser drawer handle. The color was a little warmer than what he wanted for this, and he had enough black and navy and midnight to choose from. 

It was still hard to think about, the pain Quentin was in. Eliot had definitely _meant_ to hold himself at a distance, here, to at least try to get Quentin out of his system. He could admit to himself now it probably wouldn't have worked. But then Quentin had said all those absolutely ridiculous things trying to communicate what was in his pants, and Eliot had just...cracked open, all the feelings he'd been trying to ignore spilling into his heart in a flood, and he'd spent the lion's share of that weekend just trying to get past the freakout it caused.

Eliot's door opened without a knock, and only one person in this house would dare. "Hi, Bambi," he said distractedly, not turning from where he was considering two ties.

"Well well well, what are we planning?" she asked, shutting the door behind her. He turned to see her seating herself in his desk chair like it was her rightful throne, the only sitting space not occupied by clothes. Having a tiny room had been the trade Eliot willingly made for the attic, which was far enough away from main areas to lend him an air of aloof superiority -- not to mention the rock-solid sound wards.

"Turns out our little Q does have a wild side," Eliot said casually. "I told you, it's always the quiet ones."

"Oh, I'm well aware. So what kind of wild are we talking here? Standard whips and chains?"

"This is so fucking precious, actually." Eliot clutched both ties to his chest and turned to look at Margo, with a face like a baby had just done something unbearably cute. "He has a vampire kink."

Margo pressed her lips together, big Bambi eyes widening, like she was actually going to try to hide her amusement. They burst out laughing at the same time, and though it sounded like the mean, mocking laughter they might usually share, it wasn't, at least not for Eliot. It was genuinely really fucking cute, and also showed plenty of promise in the area of being, as Quentin kept putting it, Into That Stuff.

"I mean, _obviously_ it's just an excuse to get me to mark up his neck and fuck him," Eliot said, putting one tie in the maybe pile and hanging one back up on the hanger that held them all (charmed never to tilt and dump its load on the floor, of course). "But there's plenty of other things I can work in, test out on him. He's not very experienced, but seems into it."

"So it's going well?" Margo asked, perching her elbow on his desk, temple on her fist. "We haven't really gotten a chance to talk about it yet."

"I mean, it _has_ been less than a week, but yes," Eliot agreed. He took a breath and parted the hangers, marking his place, then turned around and stepped in front of Margo. 

Sensing his seriousness, she dropped the smile and sat up. "El?"

Eliot bent to take her hands, holding them loosely. "I'm about to tell you something I have permission to share with you. Not that I think you would, because you _do_ have a heart in there, but you are sworn to secrecy and not to discuss it outside this room. Not even with him. I don't think," Eliot said, lifting his head with a slight frown. Had Quentin said anything about Margo talking to him? No, but he'd mentioned being treated differently. Important. "Also you can't treat him any differently," he said, looking back down. "Understood?"

"Okay," Margo agreed, with a carefully neutral expression that hid apprehension.

Eliot took a breath. "Quentin is trans. He's FTM. Born with...your parts, not my parts."

"Oh." Margo rolled her eyes and snatched her hands away, looking annoyed. "Jesus, El!" she exclaimed, swatting him. "I thought it was something _bad_!"

"Not bad," Eliot said easily, moving back to the closet. "Just, new to me. You know. I mean, not pussy in general, but his body isn't...like, he's just unique, you know? Turns out most trans people are."

"True," Margo agreed, back in her relaxed position. She narrowed her eyes. "He doesn't _look_..."

"Yeah," Eliot agreed, nodding. He knew what she meant. "We haven't really gotten deep on that yet, but he owns a binder, and a packer he doesn't use that often. He's known he was trans at least since fifteen, so one assumes he's been on hormones for a long time, presumably early enough that he was still growing, so he developed the more masc-looking secondary characteristics. Broader shoulders and suchlike."

"Look at you, all proud of your buzzwords," Margo said, but she was grinning.

Eliot couldn't help smiling as he shrugged. "Well, you know. I'm trying to be like, supportive? Using the words he's comfortable with, not touching him in ways he doesn't like." He could feel the troubled look coming over his face as his grin disappeared. "I really don't want to hurt him, which is apparently pretty easy, if someone doesn't listen."

"Sweetie," Margo said, and her voice had gone so soft he couldn't stand it, almost past sympathetic and into pitying. "This one's got you pretty fucked up, huh?"

Eliot huffed and flopped a vest onto the maybe pile. "I don't even know why I..." He sighed, facing the closet so she couldn't see his face. "You don't know this yet, but I am a _really_ shitty boyfriend, Bambi. I just don't want to let him down."

"God, you really _are_ fucked up."

Eliot gave her an irritated glance over his shoulder.

"Okay, look. It's not like that's a _surprise_ ," Margo said. "It's been obvious for a while now that Quentin's not some random cock. Lack thereof notwithstanding. So you caught feelings." Eliot glanced back again in time to see her shrug. "It was gonna happen sometime. And I'll point out that a bad boyfriend wouldn't be picking through his closet for a nerdy sex fantasy and swearing me to secrecy," she said. "It would have been easy for you to just tell me and roll your eyes about it, but you didn't. You're _trying_ , El," she insisted, dropping her hand to tilt her head at him. "Let that be enough to start with, okay?"

Eliot sighed and turned back toward the closet, nodding. The thought of hurting Quentin was terrifying, but he _was_ trying. He'd always known he bonded fast -- Margo herself was proof of that -- but he hadn't even been the legal drinking age the last time it collided with his fondness for pretty boys on his dick. He hadn't allowed it to, wearing his whole persona like a mask, but somehow Quentin had wiggled past all those carefully-built walls. Eliot was older now, right? Wiser. 

Hopefully. 

"You're right. You're always right," he added.

"Of course I am," she said, and he heard her stand up from the chair and walk toward him, felt her take his hand and rest her head on his arm. "Now, what's the vibe we're looking for here? We talking more Lestat and Louis, or more Vampire Diaries?"

Eliot smiled, despite his worry, and kissed the top of her head, looping his arm up around her shoulders, fingers still laced together. "Definitely more Vampire Diaries, but somewhere in the middle. Something refined. I'm thinking all slim cuts and dark blue-family colors. Red for vampires is _so_ overdone."

~

It had taken about two days for Quentin to drop the pretense of keeping this hidden from the rest of the house, so on Saturday morning Eliot was lounging in Quentin's bed, having deigned to descend from on high, while Quentin stood in the bathroom shaving. "I don't really wanna go off campus for it," he was saying, words distorted because he didn't even have the decency to wait to talk until he was done shaving his lip. "It just feels like a lot of work and not enough fucking, you know?"

"That's fair," Eliot agreed, looking at a pattern in the ceiling. "It was an idle thought, mean streets and a dark alley and such." He'd initiated this, the second negotiation, partially because he was getting to the planning stage where concrete details were needed, and partially because he could be absolutely sure they were both sober. The first negotiation had been vague and basic -- planned vs surprise (planned) and whether Quentin was playing a character too (nope, just himself), that kind of thing.

"Another question I had," Eliot said. "Vampires are obviously a mouth thing, right? Lots of sucking and biting your neck, obviously. I know it's pretty soon, but do you think maybe you'd be okay with my mouth somewhere else yet?"

Quentin came and stood in the doorway, shirtless, but his binder was white and long like a tank top. Eliot wondered if it was the one he'd worn at the party. "Um," Quentin said, wiping his face with a hand towel. "That...maybe?"

Eliot propped himself up on his elbows. "I won't be disappointed if you say no. I know these things take time."

Quentin tossed the towel onto the bathroom counter. "I mean...I said that, and then I let you jerk me off the first time we did it, so. Obviously the normal timetables don't apply. Um." He came and crawled up onto the bed, and Eliot laid an arm out invitingly, creating a space for Quentin to snuggle up, if he was going to, but he stayed sitting back on his haunches. "You're really good at taking direction."

Eliot grinned lazily. "A big cock is not nearly enough to be good at sex, baby boy, the skill upon which I most prize myself."

Quentin rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. Briefly, Eliot reflected that they were already so comfortable together, and was this just what a friends-first relationship was like? He could get into it. "At minimum, we need a thorough verbal lesson first. I'm kind of torn between a practical lesson or doing it for the first time, you know, on the day? That sounds kind of hot, but. Also if it's bad it could fuck up the fantasy."

Eliot gave an unbothered shrug, only worrying a tiny bit now that it might come off dismissive of Q's feelings. "Could also take the pressure off. I'm probably equally likely to fuck it up _whenever_ we do it, so at least on the day you can kind of bury it in, well, it's this strange predator, of course he's doing it wrong. No?"

He watched Quentin cut his eyes to the side and scratch his upper arm, and it was kind of cute how obvious his tells were and how Quentin was so obviously unaware of them. He clearly had no idea that this arm scratch was the equivalent of a "Processing..." bar over his head.

"Um," he said. "Maybe. I mean, where you're going with that...makes sense to me."

"Although, I do feel the need to point out that I will go down on you literally any time you want, lovely boy," Eliot added, smirking. "I mean, present it and say the word, I am _in there._ "

Quentin turned that lovely shade of red that was so unique to him. It was funny because with the olive tones in his skin, he never really achieved 'pink' or 'flushed' or anything, he just went from regular to red, in these big blotches on his cheeks that never seemed to reach his nose or his forehead.

Smiling, Eliot reached up and drew his fingers along Quentin's forehead. "What are you thinking about, baby boy?"

Quentin cleared his throat. "Um. About how you're pretty much in the perfect position for me to straddle your face."

Jesus fuck, Quentin had this habit of just _saying things_ like that, like they weren't fucking- fucking _targeted strikes_ on Eliot's dick, like they weren't actual fucking attempts to kill him via oxygen deprivation, when all of his blood left his brain and went to his dick. He could actually feel it twitch, bare under the blanket, and unlike Quentin, he was well aware that his face was showing exactly how he felt about that. "Oh yeah?" he asked, still mentally flailing for anything more articulate.

Quentin nodded, a mix of hunger and apprehension on his face that made Eliot's heart ache, and he cupped the back of his boy's neck. "We don't have to," Eliot said softly, thumb brushing up through the soft hairs at the base of his skull. "We can do the verbal lesson first, now or later, and we can practice whenever you want, or never." Thank god Eliot had enough experience with kink to have practice with this, the reassurance that something wasn't necessary without either spooking his partner away from it or making it sound like he didn't want to.

"Or we could do both," Quentin said, suddenly swinging a leg up over Eliot's body and crawling upward. He was wearing jeans, so Eliot didn't really know where this was going, but he was desperately intrigued as Quentin started to crawl up.

"I mean- I don't really know how that..." It was hard to remember what he was talking about as Quentin got his knees up past Eliot's shoulders, settling to sit on Eliot's upper chest, high enough that he wasn't restricting breathing significantly. "Isn't kind of the point of a verbal lesson that you teach me before I do it?"

"Yeah," Quentin agreed, reaching out and taking hold of Eliot's curls, making his eyelids flutter.

"And don't...god, don't you need your pants off for me to go down on you?"

"That's the point," Quentin said, and it didn't make any sense to Eliot, but it didn't really matter because Quentin was yanking his head forward, mouth directly level with where the sprout ought to be. "Lesson one: don't use your hands to spread it. It makes me feel exposed in a bad way."

Where the fuck had _this_ come from? Eliot had Quentin pretty well pegged as a sweet little sub, it was impossible to miss or ignore the way he sought praise, the way he yielded to touch, the way he so happily just went wherever Eliot put him. This was honestly the first hint he was getting of any switchiness to Q, and it had his mouth pressed into the seam of his fucking jeans.

Eliot opened his mouth and let his tongue come out, pressing hard and hoping that was enough for Quentin to feel the pressure, maybe the warmth too. Quentin sighed above him and rocked against his mouth. "Lesson two: don't go for the sprout until it's fully hard. When you do, gentle is better than firm."

That made sense, the sprout had grown out of a structure much more sensitive than the penis, so hoovering it would probably hurt. Eliot looked up into Quentin's eyes, mouth open and tongue out against him, and nodded a little to show he was listening before he angled his head, getting his mouth up underneath. Quentin made a little noise, and Eliot got to watch his eyes flutter shut.

"Lesson three: you can go for my ass pretty much anytime. God, your tongue is fucking amazing." Eliot heard the way his breath hitched and brought his hands up to his boy's hips, gripping firmly and trying to pull him into a better position, where Eliot could look for the sprout again, but the hand that wasn't in his hair grabbed a wrist and pinned it back to the bed.

Holy _fuck_. The little spark inside Eliot that wanted to take control back flickered and died, and he put his other hand up too, a show of submission. Quentin let go of his hair just long enough to grab the wayward wrist and push both of them together over Eliot's head, so he could pin them with one hand and grab his hair again.

"B-but the front hole..." This position essentially had Quentin on all fours, bent forward so a lot of his weight was balanced on top of Eliot's wrists, keeping him firmly pinned, while the other hand held his head in place, his _mouth_ in place, while Quentin rubbed against it. "Ungh...just lick around it first, like, the outside? Don't worry about hurting it, a tongue is...mm, soft enough...fuck..."

As much as this was teasing Eliot, it was obviously actually working for Quentin, the broken sentences and soft noises were a dead giveaway that it felt really good. Eliot's mouth was dry and his tongue felt weird from the texture of the denim, but he was still pushing his chin up, trying to give Q better contact and resistance to grind against.

"God yeah right there," Quentin gasped, and Eliot pressed harder. He was pretty sure...god, yes, he could feel the shape of the sprout under Quentin's jeans, it was _right there_ , only layers of fabric separating him from it, and the knowledge made Eliot moan loud against him. He found the shape and fitted his mouth against it, sucking hard through the fabric, reveling in the sound Quentin made. "St-start...start with the outside, of the front hole- ah! Eliot...mm, and I'll, I'll let you know if you can try to go inside it. Like, um, um, god, um, like if I want, um, you, in, I'll like spread my legs or use my words or something..."

Eliot sucked harder, wanting to shut him up, and it worked. His own cock was definitely hard, he could feel it tenting the blanket it was under, and he would have touched it if his hands weren't pinned, _fuck_. He had a little of that squirmy feeling inside, the caged-bird restlessness he got when he tried to submit, but Quentin was making it so good it was easy to ignore.

He heard Quentin taking some deep breaths above him, and for a second thought he was about to come, until he spoke again. "Lesson four:" he said, panting. "If I want fingers, I'll ask. Don't try them unless prompted. If I don't specify and you're not sure, you can ask which hole, but sometimes I won't care. You can...nngh, you can jerk me off though, if you want. You're really good at that."

Eliot opened his eyes and fixed them on Quentin's, sticking his tongue out and licking hard against the sprout. Quentin looked back at him with that almost pained expression he got, the so-horny-it-hurts look, then closed his eyes and rubbed hard, letting out a little needy sound. It just made Eliot want to take care of him, but Quentin was taking care of himself quite competently, taking what he needed from Eliot without any help.

"Lesson...nnngh...five..." He broke off to pant, his hips giving these desperate little rocks. Eliot pulled his lips back and pressed the flat of his teeth against the sprout, hoping that the jeans were blunting it enough for the pressure not to hurt. "B-be aware that if...if you make me...come...oh fuck make me come...that's it for...for a while...I can't go...god, _Eliot_ , make me fucking come..."

Quentin might be pinning him down right now, but Eliot knew a sub begging to come when he heard it. A harder jerk of his hips made Eliot taste blood, but he didn't care. He sucked hard again, creating a vacuum with his tongue to apply as much pressure as he could.

Quentin cried out and shook above him, hips rocking, but Eliot was sucking hard enough to hold on. He only let go when Quentin made a little whiny noise. His hands were released and he moved quickly, helping Quentin move so he landed softly and safely on his back as he flopped over, not crashing into the headboard or off the bed. He laid on the pillow with his eyes closed, panting, hair scattered carelessly around his head. The perfectly laundered white tank top made him look like some preppy underwear brand advertisement -- _don't you want to look this hot and feel this good? Buy our products._ He was only missing a puka shell necklace.

"You're so fucking hot, baby boy," Eliot murmured, kissing all down Quentin's neck and across his shoulder. He was hard as fuck, and couldn't help grinding into Quentin's hip, the rough denim only a reminder of what they'd just done. That orgasm must have been fucking good because Quentin was slow turning towards him for a kiss, his arm was lazy and sluggish as he reached for Eliot's dick. Eliot kissed him with abandon, moaning encouragingly as that perfect hand wrapped around him.

Quentin pulled back, frowning, and Eliot didn't know why until he saw a hint of red on Quentin's lip at the same time as Quentin's eyes widened. "Shit, you're bleeding."

Eliot just grinned, not knowing or caring if it was bad enough for there to be blood in his teeth. "What if it's your blood? I'm a vampire, baby boy."

Quentin let Eliot kiss him again, and the hand tightening on his cock was both obvious and adorable.

~

"Who all even _knows_? Julia, I'm guessing."

"Julia and Alice," Eliot agreed. He was sitting at the head of his bed with Margo's foot in his lap, painting her toenails a bright copper. "She was his secrets partner. Apparently Penny never mentioned anything, but with the way he bitches about Quentin's wards, I don't see any way he could not know. I mean, conceivably the whole first-year class could know, depending how shit went down in the cubbies at South. Remember Todd?" he asked with a grin.

"Ugh, don't _remind_ me," Margo said with a heavy eyeroll. "Fucking trying to _honk_ at us."

"Staggering around naked, trying to figure out how his legs worked," Eliot said with a chuckle as he dragged the brush along the edge of a nail. "I'm gonna need your help with this on Thursday or Friday, by the way," he said, lifting up the brush briefly before moving on to the next nail. "You're so much better at a mani than I am, and I found this wine-purple that'll look awesome with a black stamp."

"Sure, I'll make some time. So this vampire thing's going ahead?"

Eliot nodded happily. "We had another conversation about it. I mean, we got distracted in the middle but we got back on track. I might need to make a no sex during negotiation rule, but, who knew little Q had some top in him?"

Margo's eyebrows lifted. " _Q_? Huge fucking nerd, yea high, can hardly get through a sentence if there's a pretty girl in the room?"

"The very same," Eliot said with a smirk. He told her about Quentin's fascinating invention of _oral frottage_. "It sounds weird, but it was hot as _fuck_. My lip's still kind of busted," he added, tonguing where he could feel it swollen on the inside. 

"I might have to steal that move," Margo said speculatively. "I don't know about jeans, but maybe over panties, not letting someone move them aside until they've been good enough?"

"That sounds pretty hot," Eliot said, nodding. "His anatomy is different from yours, so I don't know if the jeans would work for you. He has a...I mean, he doesn't like this word, but it's a dick," Eliot said. "It's smaller than if he were cis and it doesn't have a urethra through it, but it gets hard, it's got foreskin and a shaft and a head. It might even be big enough to fuck someone with if he wanted to try. The medical term is micropenis, which, _yikes_ , but T makes a clit grow into one. We've been calling it his sprout," he said with a smile.

"You'd think calling it a dick would be, I dunno, affirming for him," Margo pointed out.

"I get the sense he's not like...totally okay with himself yet? Like, he hates himself and his body too much to accept it for what it is."

"Well, _that's_ not news," Margo said sardonically. "Or am I supposed to act shocked that Quentin Coldwater isn't okay with himself?"

Eliot laughed softly, carefully reaching over for the nail polish bottle to put the brush back in and screw it on. "You right," he agreed. "I signed up for a pretty bumpy ride." He glanced back at Margo, and did a double take at her expression. "What?"

"Nothing," she said softly, in a sad way that meant 'everything.' "I've just never seen you care about anything this much."

Eliot shrugged, looking down at her feet. "Most things aren't worth caring about."

"But he is."

Eliot nodded, without speaking or looking up. 

"That can be scary," Margo ventured, still with that gentle tone that Eliot wasn't sure anyone else ever heard. "Caring, for the first time in a while. Opens you up to the possibility of getting hurt."

Eliot nodded again. "It does," he agreed quietly, and took a breath. "But honestly, Bambi? I think I could hurt him a lot worse than he could hurt me. The thing that scares me the most is...is not being worthy of the trust he's giving me. You know?" he said, looking up at her and hoping desperately she understood.

"Well, _yeah_ ," she said, but she was smiling a little at him. "You're a good dom, whether you're a good boyfriend or not. Of course you want to be trustworthy with him."

"I'm not even his dom yet, though," Eliot said. "Might not ever be if he decides he's not into it."

Margo just rolled her eyes. "God, you're dumb. He's into it, Eliot. Maybe blurring those lines a little wouldn't be a bad thing, anyway," she said. "Maybe if you think you're about to fuck up as a boyfriend, ask yourself if a good dom would do that. If the answer is yes, you're in the clear. If not, explore further."

Eliot nodded thoughtfully. "That's not the worst idea ever," he said, contemplating. "I've definitely dommed and peaced out on a lot more boys than I've boyfriended." He thought briefly of Julia's birthday party that he and Margo had invited themselves to, back when she and Quentin were still trying to hang on to their Muggle friends, and the kink club in the city they'd visited after leaving. Margo had disappeared with a big, burly bottom into a private room, while Eliot gave a boy with shiny, shaggy brown hair a public flogging. Good god, in retrospect he was embarrassingly obvious.

He sighed, glancing at Margo again before testing the edge of her nail with his finger, seeing if she was dry enough for a second coat yet. "I just want to give him a lot of orgasms and maybe help him turn his brain off and...fucking _fight_ anyone who's ever hurt him."

Margo chuckled as he picked up the nail polish again. "That's love, bitch."

~

Margo was quiet while she did Eliot's nails before bed on Thursday, only speaking up as she did the drying charm on the topcoat.

"I just don't want him to come between us."

"He won't," Eliot said, taken aback that she'd even think that, but she just fixed him with a look. "Margo, he _won't._ Mar-" He sighed and pulled her into a hug, tucking her into his chest without hesitation -- her drying charm was bulletproof. "I only have one Bambi. And he gets that. He gets us. He will never, ever replace you. Just, you know. Maybe we can occasionally make this double act a trio. Look, you like him, right?"

"I guess," Margo admitted, cheek against his pec.

"And hopefully one day you meet a guy who I like, at least a little, and then we'll be four. We're just...building. You know? Building a family. And if any of the bricks we choose aren't pulling their weight, we'll knock them out and replace them."

"I don't _want_ a family," Margo said, a hint of petulance to her tone. "I just want you."

Eliot sighed and kissed the top of her head, understanding that there was no way to completely smooth this wrinkle. "Well, maybe I'll fuck it up with Q and he'll dump me and all this will become a moot point."

He felt more than heard her small giggle. "I hope not."

It made him smile. "I hope not, too."

~

The appointed hour arrived: Friday. Eliot hadn't seen Quentin all day, but that was for the best -- in fact, he'd _maybe_ avoided the parts of his daily routine that would normally have him and Quentin passing each other, found alternate routes around campus and different places to pass time. He knew his and Quentin's last classes let out at the same time, so he'd ducked out of his ten minutes early, knowing he could bargain for the homework answers later, and headed straight up to his room.

This was perfect, really -- he had several hours to prepare himself, which was what he preferred before a scene. Every single kink experience didn't need to be a full scene, of course. This was his first one with Quentin despite a few dozen orgasms between them, and there'd definitely been a certain share of hand-pinning and ass-spanking involved with those (even, once, a very light slap to Quentin's cheek, barely hard enough to get his attention, but to which his reaction had been _highly_ intriguing). There could be a difference between a little slap and tickle and a full scene with a plan and negotiation, but he found the latter format grounding and fulfilling in a way that few things matched.

Really good drugs, maybe, the kind with magic mixed in, but he firmly reminded himself he was off those for a reason.

Although he was pleased to discover he apparently wasn't addicted to anything. That was nice. He changed out of his outside clothes and into a robe while he drew a bath, opening a bottle of water while he waited for the tub to fill. It wasn't like he was _bad_ at hydration normally, but it was important to have all his physical needs as well-attended as possible, minimizing the chance of any physical problems. There was truly nothing worse than having to safeword out because he got a charley horse. 

Eliot did the spell to make sure the water stayed at the right temperature, then dropped a bath bomb in. He eased himself into the water with a sigh, letting the heat sink into his muscles and ease all the minor annoyances that came from a day of normal living. He went over the plan mentally, and the conversation he'd had with Quentin about safewords.

In an impossibly adorable twist, Quentin had worried that "red" was a bad choice for a vampire scene, which was going to include the discussion and fantasy of blood, even if not the actual substance. Eliot had conceded that yes, the word was likely to come up in play, but safewording wasn't a code you needed to slip into a sentence. There ought to be a clear difference between "look at you bleeding so red and pretty for me" and "red! _Red!_ " Regardless, they'd agreed on the most predictable possible secondary safe word: Fillory.

_"Pretty sure we're going to end up doing something where that'll also come up, you little nerd."_

_Shrug. "So we can pick another one then. It doesn't always have to be the same, does it?"_

_"Well, no, but it shouldn't change very often, if at all. It needs to be something that can jerk you out of it anytime and you're not struggling to remember."_

_"Well. Fillory makes me feel safe."_

It had been hard to argue with that.

Eliot had chosen not to shave for a day or two, thinking it might offer an interesting textural element to all the necking, but he rubbed some oil into his face while he bathed, wanting it to just feel rough, not _sharp_. It would make him look a little extra broody, too, and he knew without asking that Quentin was going to be a sucker for that. It made him smile as he dipped his head back into the water, wetting his hair.

His mind drifted to the plan, the agreed-upon progression of events. There was room for improv, to maintain a little of the excitement and anxiety for Quentin, and he didn't know exactly where Eliot was taking him for the actual doing of the thing. When Eliot closed his eyes, he could see Quentin's face as they'd talked it out, how sweet and unknowingly sexy he was, blushing and biting his lip all the time.

_"Sorry, I keep blushing." Hands pressed to his own cheeks._

_"Don't be sorry. It's cute."_

_Eye roll. "It's splotchy and gross-looking."_

_Prying his hands down. "If Daddy says it's cute, then it's cute."_

Quentin had blushed even harder and god, he was just so...he had this mix of innocent and filthy that Eliot had been sure was impossible in real life. A boy who grabbed his hair and rode his face but also blushed when suggesting that maybe Eliot could rim him again. He felt his cock stir under the water thinking about it, about the sounds he made with Eliot's tongue on him...

Eliot opened his eyes. There was a choice to make here: he could keep going down this road, jerk off, and be calm for the scene, having taken the edge off. He'd also have a good chance of lasting longer, already being on round two for the day. Alternately, he could stop this now, finish washing and carry on with his rituals, saving up the energy so he could focus all that intensity on his partner, on making it good for him.

Laid out like that, it was a no brainer. Quentin deserved all of him. So he rinsed the shampoo out of his hair and ignored his cock, working the conditioner through so his curls would be soft and touchable. 

He considered himself in the mirror as he dried, debating whether to clean up the edges of the scruff. On the one hand, there was kind of a gross neck beard thing going that he wouldn't be caught dead in any other time. But it...kind of worked? And the coat he'd be wearing had a high collar, so no one was going to see it but Quentin. He just swiped aftershave down his neck, a fragrance blend that smelled of leather and spicysweet dragon's blood. He used a good old-fashioned hair dryer with a diffuser on it, even though there were faster magical methods. He had all the time in the world, and having to do things the slow way had a kind of meditativeness about it. He took the time to style his hair so the curls piled up on top and held their shape, but were still soft and not sticky. 

Next was makeup, a powder that was a couple of shades too pale and made his skin look masklike. Eyeliner, a little smudged, and a hint of lip stain to make his mouth stand out. It wasn't the look he'd normally go for, and he didn't look much like himself, but that was the point. He looked eerie, ethereal, _just_ nudging towards the uncanny valley. He smirked, predatory, and liked the effect.

Now the outfit. The construction wasn't _too_ different from his normal dress -- he mourned the lack of a waistcoat, but hopefully seeing him _different_ would help them both with the scene. Black briefs and dark-wash skinny jeans, jesus, he felt like he was going on a _hike_. Black socks, and a black buttoned shirt with an intricate print in dark indigo, and buttons that shone pewter. He paused to admire his nails as he buttoned, the black design over a deep purple reflecting his shirt -- Margo really was a genius with a bottle of polish. 

Black belt. He'd considered suspenders, but unbuckling a belt was just such a powerful gesture, such a statement of intent. Plus, Quentin had expressed interest in a little pain play or restraint, should the mood take, and having a leather strap handy for that would be great.

Finally, black boots, a style reminiscent of the Victorians -- he'd been extraordinarily lucky to find them in his size, even with the length and breadth of the internet at his disposal -- black stamped leather down the middle and black suede over the toe and sides, coming up above his ankle. 

The very last garment was a black greatcoat, made of a thick wool material that would offer good protection if it rained like it was threatening to. It had a high, standing collar, with two rows of shining buttons down the front. It was tailored to him, still a little shorter than knee length -- not much to be done about that, on his frame -- but close-fitting, elegant. He added a couple of last touches. Silver rings on several fingers, chunky and heavy enough to change the way he moved his hands a little, and a long necklace, a bronze pendant on a dark chain. A silver lapel pin, in the shape of a long, slim dragon, a nod to his little nerd boy.

He stood in front of the full-length mirror inside the closet door, taking in the full effect of the shirt open at the throat and the little bits of shine, set off perfectly by the dark colors. It was just clothes, but it _felt_ like a costume, and when he drew himself up to his full height, he felt powerful.

Eliot _had_ to make sure Margo saw this before he left. Someone needed to appreciate it properly other than him, and Quentin was going to be too focused on taking it off him.

He took off the coat and checked the time. He had an hour and a half still. He should drink some more, and have a cigarette (or three) and eat dinner. Something light. He opened the door and took a few steps down the stairs. 

"Psst! Alice!"

She stopped in the middle of the hall and gave him that stare that couldn't quite help being belligerent.

"Is Quentin around?"

She just shrugged and started walking again. Eliot rolled his eyes. Honestly, was she so lost in the stupid transphobic sauce that she couldn't even help a man get _laid_? He emerged fully, taking the risk to cross over and knock on Margo's door.

It opened as abruptly as she did everything else, but she looked him up and down slow. "Well, look at _you._ "

Eliot couldn't help doing a twirl for her. "Is Q around?"

"You should be in the clear, he stopped by after classes and said he was gonna study and eat dinner with Julia, over in the Attic."

"Perfect," Eliot said, relaxing. Considerate of Quentin, to make sure Eliot had the freedom to move around and do what he had to do. He felt his heart ache a little. "We're mid-prep ritual. Didn't want to run into him getting food."

"Understandable. This is gonna be one hell of a reveal." Her smirk was small, but satisfied.

"Oh, wait until you see the coat," Eliot said, putting a hand over his chest and shaking his head. He lowered his voice and leaned in conspiratorially. "He wants me to stalk him across campus for a while first. I might be creating a monster here."

"I fucking hope so. Nerd needs to loosen up." 

In deference to the makeup, she didn't kiss his cheek, but she did let Eliot clasp her hand in both of his and kiss it gratefully -- his lip stain wasn't going anywhere with one kiss. Then it was downstairs.

God, what did he actually want? He wasn't hungry, even though he knew he should be at this hour. He took a cracker out of a sleeve someone had left open on the counter as communal property, but the shower of crumbs it emitted when bitten ruled that out. He wasn't spending half an hour to get food off everything and then get dressed again. He peered into the fridge and grabbed a string cheese so he could at least get some protein in, in case he ended up with more carbs.

Examining his own appetite, he realized he was _excited_. It wasn't that he wasn't hungry, he had butterflies in his stomach. He was excited to show Q a good time, really show him how good trusting someone so much could be, should always be.

A nice calming cigarette. That would help, right? He went outside into the backyard as thunder rumbled. He cast a wary eye to the sky and decided he had ten safe minutes before his hair was fucked, but smoked fast anyway. He absently grabbed another string cheese, debating if he was going to reduce himself to cup noodles.

In the end, he just grabbed one more string cheese and went back upstairs. Three string cheeses and a cracker -- not exactly a victory of self-care, but it was energy. He just wanted the next hour to be done already, for it to be _go time_. Normally he was better at timing his prep rituals. 

He took a breath and sat at his desk, thinking calm, serene thoughts. He lit another cigarette and let himself think of Quentin's thighs: strong, delicious, and waiting for him.

~

With ten minutes to go, sure that Quentin was probably back in the cottage by now, Eliot applied the final touch, one that no one else knew about: it was a minor spell from an Illusionist, he'd helped someone rearrange their room with telekinesis in trade. He picked up the plum from where he'd left it on his windowsill, took it into the bathroom, and took a bite.

Mentally, he swore as he felt juice run down his chin. He managed to lean forward and let the rest drip into the sink before it could hit his clothing. That was fine, he could fix the makeup.

As he chewed and swallowed, there was a flavor that didn't belong there, like...like a hint of clove candy. He looked up and bared his new fangs in the mirror.

He had to admit, the Illusionists knew what they were doing. When he tried to touch one with his tongue, it went right through it, but other than that it was an excellent illusion of elongated teeth, like the most carefully applied of Hollywood prosthetics. He tested with his tongue again, making sure they weren't _actually_ sharp and dangerous to bite with, but he just felt his real tooth underneath. And...the juice had run down his chin and marred the makeup a little, yes, but it kind of just looked like he'd drank from someone else already and cleaned it up poorly. He tried a predatory grin to see the full effect.

Oh yes, a plum had been the right choice to cast the spell on. He made a note to offer that Illusionist some of his drug stash, which was currently useless to him and quickly approaching expiration. 

He pulled the coat on, took one last look in the mirror, arranged the collar a little, and opened his door. He peeked down the steps just in time to see a brown messenger bag and a green sweater disappear around the corner to the stairs. He counted to 100, then followed.

It was dark now, not much light in the sky and what little there might have been was dimmed by the lingering heavy clouds. It had rained hard for a while, but now it was down to a drizzle. Eliot could see a figure heading along the path towards the library with its head down, and hustled in that direction. 

Eliot had worried a little about tracking him in the dark, but mostly the problem was keeping enough distance to preserve the illusion. His instincts pushed him to run up and grab Quentin _now_ , he was having to _make_ himself be patient. He followed at a distance, closer than he'd follow if he was really trying to be unseen, but he was sure it was fine. As a pack of first years passed him, not even seeming to notice who he was, he scuffed his toe a little louder against the sidewalk than necessary.

Fifty feet ahead, he watched Quentin freeze, then turn. Eliot didn't try to hide, just stood still, a distant, ominous figure.

At this range, he couldn't tell if Quentin looked directly at him or just around (damn it, he should have checked his eyesight spells as part of the prep) but when he continued on, he was hunched, head down and movements jerkier, like he was spooked. Eliot felt his body respond and sped his pace a little, closing the distance some.

The next time Quentin stopped and looked, he was closer, maybe half the distance, undeniably stalking him. He started walking again while still looking back at Eliot, stumbling a little. Eliot started walking just as Quentin turned back, letting him catch a glimpse of the movement, leaving no question that he was being pursued.

As if Eliot needed the opening, Quentin stopped just around the corner from the library, kneeling to tie his shoe. How was he so sexy and yet so goddamn cute? Nevertheless, Eliot took the invitation, closing the last of the distance and grabbing Quentin just as he stood, arms snaking around his waist and pinning his arms to his sides.

"And what have we here?" he asked, hearing Quentin's gasp. He was pitching his voice low, but smooth, refined, not gravelly. "What a treat you are."

Quentin thrashed a little in his arms, testing, but Eliot held him easily. "Let go," he said, in a...rough approximation of a scared tone. He was trying, bless his heart. "Let _go_ of me."

"You don't really want that," Eliot stated. "You could have called for help anytime. But you didn't, did you?"

"I still c-could..." His voice went dreamy and distant as Eliot dragged his nose up the side of Quentin's neck. He'd put his hair back in that little bun, how thoughtful. "W-who are you?"

"Who I am is the man you're going to obey tonight," Eliot said, letting his hand come up and wrap around the front of Quentin's throat. His thumb pressed up under Quentin's jaw, forcing him to expose his neck. "Without question. Is that understood?"

Quentin thrashed again. "Fuck you."

 _Ooh._ The level of feistiness was hot. Eliot squeezed a little, just threatening like he might restrict air, but instead, he sank his teeth into the side of Quentin's neck and started sucking.

The sound Quentin made absolutely did not indicate fear, and Eliot probably wouldn't have risked this if it weren't such a shitty night, driving everyone but them and their weird sex thing indoors. If Eliot was good at anything, it was committing to the bit. He could feel that compact little body pressing back against him, writhing, ass pressing back toward his crotch, though regrettably the coat was too thick to feel anything, at least until he got really hard. Eliot squeezed the arm around his waist, pulling him closer as he sucked hard, holding the flesh between his teeth.

He released the bite with a harsh exhale, like he'd taken a deep drink, and Quentin sagged in his arms a little. Was he just playing it really well, or were his knees actually weak? Eliot chose to believe the latter. "That's right, be good for me, my pet," he whispered, then dragged his teeth over Quentin's earlobe. "I'd better get you somewhere a little more private, hmm?"

Quentin nodded weakly, and Eliot surveyed his work in the dim light of the path. The mark was definitely dark, dark enough that Q would be feeling it tomorrow. He'd made clear that was what he wanted. Eliot hummed in satisfaction, reaching around to drag a finger over it. It made Quentin whimper and arch a little. 

"Sore?" Eliot asked, smiling. "Good. You have no idea how much sorer you can be, little pet, but you'll find out if you fight me again."

He leaned in and kissed the mark sweetly, then kissed Quentin's ear. "Color?" he whispered.

"Green." The response was breathy, but immediate and clear. 

Eliot kissed his ear again, then just stood holding him, until Quentin seemed stronger. He did not actually have the strength to carry him if his knees were weak. After a minute, though, they heard someone exit the library, and Quentin squirmed a little to be released.

"Where are you taking me?" he prompted, and Eliot released his hold to grab Quentin by the arm and pull him deeper into the darkness, avoiding whoever was coming out. 

"What did I say about questions?" Eliot asked, low and quiet, as he pulled a playacting-reluctant Quentin along. 

"So what, I can't like, make conversation?"

It was so ridiculous in context that Eliot had to press his lips together. Instead of laughing, he rounded on Quentin, baring his teeth and letting him get the full effect for the first time.

Heat licked in his belly and between his legs at the look on Quentin's face, startled, terrified, but desperately aroused. Clearly, he hadn't been prepared for just how powerful the illusion was, and the real fear on his face made Eliot's stomach twist a little.

At the same time, though, Quentin swayed toward him, like he was desperate to touch, and it made Eliot smirk. "Your body already knows me, pet," he murmured, running a hand from Quentin's shoulder, cutting to the side under his arm to avoid his chest. "It knows who its master is." Down his stomach and hip and right back up between his legs. Eliot had already considered playing surprise at what he found, and decided against it, so he just grinned, flashing the fangs gratuitously. 

Quentin made a little sound at the touch, cheeks flaring red even in the darkness, but Eliot didn't let it last long, turning and hustling him along in front now. "We're going somewhere you can make as much noise as you want, and no one will hear you. No one can help you."

As it happened, this wasn't strictly untrue. The first year dorms sat empty most of the school year, since first years were fairly quickly divided into their Disciplines and moved into their assigned houses. Professors did sweeps every so often, checking for ghosts or vermin or...whatever, but he'd bribed an assistant for the schedule, so he'd been able to spend a day or two airing out one of the rooms, getting sheets on a bed, stashing lube and Gatorade. He just had to get over here to get it all out before Monday evening. For tonight, the building was quite empty.

As they approached the door of the building, Quentin kicked up the act again, struggling and fighting, though not very hard. They were far enough from a main thoroughfare not to be interrupted, so Eliot let him fight, just dragging him along. Telekinesis prevented Quentin's shoes sticking to the ground like they should, reducing the friction so it was easier.

Just inside the door, Eliot slammed Quentin against the wall. "You'll pay for that, pet," he growled, but almost immediately noticed the pain on Quentin's face, and the way he was reaching for his head didn't look fake.

"Whoa, whoa," Eliot said, dropping the voice. "What happened?"

"Hit my head," Quentin groaned, forcing a few breaths. Eliot felt his stomach drop. "I'm okay though, I'm okay," he said quickly. "It's not bad."

Eliot looked disapproving. "If you're lying because you're horny you really will be in trouble. Not the fun kind."

Quentin managed to laugh at that, so Eliot figured he was probably basically okay. "I'm okay, just gimme a minute." He exhaled and let his head fall forward against Eliot's shoulder.

"Sorry," Eliot said, chagrined, kissing the top of Quentin's head and reaching up to gently stroke the back of it. He didn't feel a lump forming. "Where was it? Here?"

Quentin nodded against him. "Sorry for breaking your...flow, there."

"Oh don't worry, I can get it back," Eliot said easily, and grinned again. "I'll take that as a positive review so far?"

" _Definitely,_ " Quentin said, emphatic enough to make Eliot laugh, warm and loving. God, he was helpless for this man, and in this moment it didn't scare him at all. Quentin sighed and moved his head up, still resting on Eliot's shoulder, but looking up at him. "Kiss me?"

Eliot did gladly, hand firm on the back of his neck, fingers tangled in the soft hairs there. He took it slow and sweet, slipping his boy just a hint of tongue, but not aggressively fucking his mouth. Quentin gave a soft little moan against him, and Eliot had the thought that it was fine if the mood was lost, he'd be more than happy to just kiss Q senseless until New Year's.

Soon enough, though, Quentin pulled back, licking his lips. "Okay, it mostly feels fine. Time in?"

Eliot nodded, giving him one last brief kiss, then pinned him hard to the wall again, without the jostle of a shove this time. "You'll pay for that, pet," he growled again.

"You can't," Quentin gasped, thrashing and writhing in a way that mostly only managed to rub up against Eliot. "You can't, I'll-"

Eliot cut him off by biting his neck again, the other side this time, and sucking as hard as he could. Quentin cried out, hips pushing up against Eliot's needily. Eliot ground his hardening cock into Quentin, pressing close enough for him to feel the shape. Nothing was doing it for him quite as hard as how Quentin obviously loved this.

When he let go again, Quentin blinked up at him like he was dazed. Eliot pulled his unresisting body off the wall and pushed him toward the stairs.

Eliot locked the door safely behind them and shoved Quentin down on the bed, then turned back toward it. He cast a muffling spell on it -- not nearly as good as a proper soundproof ward, but those took a lot more time than he was going to spend on it right now, and really it was just for extra safety's sake, with the building empty. Eliot had set up a desk lamp so it was pointed at the wall, so the light bounced off the flat surface and diffused in the room; it came on with a snap of his fingers.

He faced Quentin as he unbuttoned the jacket, expression fierce, but watching for his reaction to the full outfit. (Absently, he made a note to tell Quentin later how good this green sweater looked on him, it really complemented his skin.) As he pulled the coat open and tossed it over the chair, he watched Quentin's jaw go slack. _Success!_

He undid a few shirt buttons, too, and kicked off his boots. Then he pounced again, coming down on Quentin on the bed and yanking his sweater aside to go for a spot on the shoulder this time. Quentin outright moaned and spread his legs, and Eliot again had to keep from laughing in delight at how needy he was.

Instead of that, he pulled back long enough to strip Quentin's sweater off, leaving his t-shirt where it was for now. He roughly undid Quentin's jeans, making him feel it, then spat on his fingers, making eye contact with Quentin. Quentin's breath visibly hitched and his eyes widened, knowing what that meant.

"Look at you," Eliot growled, bending over him again as that hand pushed into Quentin's boxers. "You're so needy for me already. Maybe I really will keep you as a pet. Keep you tied up here, use you as a blood bag whenever I feel like it."

The shocked moan was probably as much from Eliot finding the sprout as from his words. Eliot picked another spot on his neck, high up under his jaw this time, worrying this one with his teeth more. It made Quentin _writhe_ , even as his hips bucked up against Eliot's hand, two fingers rubbing from the sides just like he liked it, just like he'd taught Eliot.

"Please, yes, god, hurt me," Quentin whimpered under him, and Eliot had always thought 'so hard it hurt' with regard to cocks was just an expression, but here he was. He pressed it into Quentin's thigh as he sucked, making Quentin gasp. "Oh god, you're gonna...you're..."

Eliot pulled off, looking pleased at the dark shape he'd left behind. Good lighting was a miracle. "I told you, pet. Your body is mine now." He struck again, not envying how sore this neck was going to be in the morning, even just in a few hours. He let go and started on another right next to it, sucking until he tasted something metallic. When Eliot pulled back, there were traces of blood where he'd sucked it out through Quentin's skin. He smiled at his work, swiping a thumb over the blood and checking his thumb to see if it would be visible, if he could maybe show it to Quentin.

Not enough. Pity. "You bleed so pretty for me, pet," he purred anyway, leaning down and dragging his tongue across the marks. Quentin let out a stuttered moan and his hips jerked up, fucking up between Eliot's fingers. "Look at you, begging for your master to hurt you," he whispered. "Falling apart in my hands. I'm hardly doing anything, you know, you're fucking my fingers just fine on your own."

Quentin made a desperate sound and his hand came to clutch Eliot's forearm hard, holding him in place as Quentin bucked up against the pressure. Eliot just watched his face, the unselfconscious pleasure and effort as he chased an orgasm. His mouth was open wide, eyes shut tight and forehead drawn in, chin tucked down toward his chest. Watching him like this, thinking of nothing but how good it felt, he was the most engrossing thing Eliot had ever seen. 

Eliot gave a content little hum and mostly let Quentin fuck his hand, bending his head again to tease one of the marks he'd already left, sucking just lightly and worrying it with his teeth. "So pretty for me, my pet," he whispered, and Quentin cried out, hips rolling in a familiar way against Eliot's hand. He collapsed back to the bed, panting softly, and Eliot hummed, kissing a mark one last time as he slowly withdrew his hand.

"Rest for me, pet," he said, maneuvering them both so he could snuggle up behind Quentin, hold him close. Almost immediately, Quentin started grinding his ass back on Eliot, but a strong hand held his hip in place. "Don't worry, you'll serve me with your holes later. For now, I make my own." He picked a mark he could see and sucked lightly on it again, making Quentin sigh and go slack.

His erection was definitely a problem at this point, but Eliot had dealt with worse. Besides, he was so focused on Quentin it was more exciting to wait, to refuse him his reward until he'd begged sufficiently. They had plenty of time.

Eliot did sneak a hand back and get his fly down though, trying not to groan out loud at the release of pressure on his trapped cock.

Snuggled up and quiet, they rested for a little while, mostly to let Quentin recover from orgasm and be ready for round two. But after a few minutes, Eliot's patience was wearing thin, so he occupied himself. He kissed Quentin's shoulder, one hand sliding up his stomach and bringing his shirt with it, until Quentin got the idea and sat up to let it come off. Next were his shoes and socks -- little nerd hadn't managed to kick them off before getting on the bed, he was so cute. Finally, jeans and then boxers.

"That's so much better, isn't it, pet?" Eliot asked, letting his hands wander up Quentin's thighs as he took in his body, just looking. "All exposed for your master, like you should be. Like you _deserve_."

"Y-yes, master," Quentin whimpered, and Eliot's dick had softened some, but it was coming right back to full attention at that. "Please..."

"Please what, pet?" Eliot whispered. "What do you want your master to do to you?"

He started to say something, then whimpered and bit his lip, eyes still closed. Eliot couldn't tell if he was trying to play fear or arousal, but really, what did it matter? "H-hurt me."

A surge of hormones had Eliot's cock back to full strength. "Oh, don't worry, my pet. I'm going to."

Kissing up one of Quentin's legs, from his calf up past his knee, Eliot clumsily reached down with one hand to start unbuttoning more of his shirt. He was pretty sure he'd meant to do this at the same time as stripping Quentin, he'd just gotten distracted by how hot he was. It was fine, he had experience with questionably hasty disrobing. He managed to get the shirt untucked and the last button open, then bit down and started sucking on Quentin's inner thigh.

Quentin gasped at this one, legs spreading easily to offer himself up. Eliot could see the sprout, a pink and shiny little thing nestled in amongst all that fur. He felt his mouth water and sucked harder at Quentin's thigh, closing his eyes and pressing in.

"Ah, fuck, yellow," Quentin gasped.

Eliot let go immediately. "Too much, baby?"

Quentin nodded. "I'm okay, keep going. Leg's more sensitive, I guess."

Eliot nodded. "I'll be gentler," he promised, and kissed the mark before starting on a new one, careful to suck more lightly this time. The way Quentin was whimpering and grabbing at his hair, Eliot was pretty sure he was getting it right.

When the second mark was red, he just slid over, nuzzling up between Quentin's legs. Quentin jerked a little and shied away, but he wasn't doing anything to stop Eliot or pull him off. He looked up, meeting Quentin's eyes with a silent question.

Quentin nodded a little, and Eliot nodded back, holding the eye contact as his tongue came out. Gently, he licked around the front hole, remembering lesson three: _just lick around the front hole first, the outside, I'll tell you if I want you in._ The taste of him was interesting -- not really like the few women he'd eaten out, but not like anything else, either. It was unique, just Quentin. He gave the opening a slow lick, bottom to top, keeping his eyes on Quentin's.

The desperate little sound he made had Eliot throbbing, and he moved down, hauling Quentin forward a little to angle his hips up. The tongue across Quentin's ass had him moaning, and he let his head fall back and his legs spread a little more. Eliot closed his eyes and went for it, familiar enough now with how Quentin liked his ass eaten -- his boy was so hungry to be filled, he'd squirm around like he was dying until Eliot put his tongue properly _in._ He focused in on fucking Quentin with his tongue until there was a tug on his hair.

He looked up again, still licking slowly, because he never promised to make it easy. Quentin visibly swallowed, then spread his legs more and pulled Eliot _up_ , so his mouth was level with the front hole again.

Eliot grinned, just to flash the fangs. "What a slut you are, my pretty pet," he purred. "Letting a monster know you so intimately." He pushed his tongue inside before Quentin could overthink that, watching him curl in and moan at the feeling, hips pushing up at Eliot's face. It lit Eliot up inside and his grip on Quentin's hips became firmer, holding him in place while Eliot buried his mouth against him, tongue thrusting over and over, making Quentin's legs shake.

When Quentin started making noises like he was getting close, Eliot wanted to stop, but there was one more thing first. He sealed his lips around the sprout and then wrapped his tongue around it, slow and filthy. _Lesson one: don't go for the sprout until it's hard. When you do, gentle is better than firm._ He wasn't going to let his boy come this way, but he _needed_ to taste him here before he stopped.

It was only a tease, though, only seconds before he pulled away. Quentin cried out in protest as Eliot got up from the bed, but then he saw Eliot pulling off his shirt. It seemed to settle him, and he watched, biting his lip as Eliot stripped. He wasn't making much show of it, going for efficiency, but he didn't rush the unbuckling of his belt. He started to just toss it onto the bed, but then he thought better of it.

Folding it in half, he held it up to Quentin's mouth, edge-first. "Open."

Quentin's mouth opened, and Eliot slotted the belt between his teeth. "Hold that for me, pet." 

Quentin let out a little whimper, and Eliot grinned again as he stood up, peeling his socks off, then jeans, then finally his briefs, leaving him naked and achingly hard before Quentin's eyes.

He got back up on the bed, kneeling over him, and took the belt back. "Very good, pet, you're doing better at obedience already." He nudged until Quentin got the point, helping him turn over onto his stomach. "Hands up."

Quentin put his hands up, and Eliot looped the belt around both wrists, then around a support bar at the bottom of the headboard. "Color?" he asked quietly, pulling the tail through the buckle and tightening it behind the bar.

"Green," Quentin reported.

Eliot kissed the back of his head. "Don't pull or it'll tighten, but you should be able to shake it off if you need to." He crawled back then, running his hands down Quentin's back, fingers catching at the edge of his binder (it was the short one with hooks up the side, which Eliot was learning he favored for sex). He gave that round, perfect ass a hard slap, then pulled Quentin up onto his knees until he could hold the position. A long lick over his holes again, both of them, and Eliot held out a hand for the bottle of lube to fly into it.

He was loud about uncapping it and squeezing some out, slicking it onto his cock and stroking it, making some wet sounds. He wiped off the excess against Quentin, slicking his holes effectively, but he didn't go for fingers. Instead, he got up behind him, cock between his legs.

"Legs together, pet," Eliot prompted, and Quentin obeyed, shifting his knees until Eliot's cock was trapped in a lovely tight space. He sighed and started to thrust, letting out a satisfied moan.

"Oh fuck," Quentin gasped as he realized what Eliot was doing. "No, you can't...I...aren't you gonna fuck me?"

"I am fucking you, pet," Eliot purred. "I'm fucking your delicious little thighs. You're bleeding enough to make it easy." He wasn't, it was supposed to be the fantasy, but it occurred to Eliot belatedly that Quentin would obviously have heard all the business with the lube. _Okay, not ideal, but keep going._ "Did you think you deserve to be fucked the way you wanted? Mmm, how presumptuous of you," he continued, giving a particularly pointed thrust.

"You...I..." Quentin let out something like a sob, but it just fueled Eliot, letting out a soft growl as he thrust harder. He could feel the sprout, which was interesting -- later, it would occur to him to wonder if Quentin could actually come from intercrural sex, if that stimulation might be enough, but right now he was _busy_.

"If you want me to make you come, pet, you have to ask," Eliot instructed. "No, actually. You have to _beg_. Go on, pet. Beg a monster to fuck you."

"Fuck you," Quentin groaned, and Eliot laughed. 

"Mmm, try again, pet. Here, I'll help you:" he purred, then pitching his voice high and mocking for the next part. "'Oh, please, master, please fuck my needy hole and make me come even though I don't deserve it!'"

"You're fucking ridiculous," was the response, and there was too much Quentin in that tone for Eliot to do anything but giggle, losing it in a gasp as Quentin squeezed his thighs together a little tighter. 

"You did that on purpose," he breathed, grinning.

" _Duh_ ," was the response. 

"I'm waiting, pet," Eliot said, dropping back into that predatory purr. "I'm more than happy to fuck your pretty thighs until I come all over you, and you can suffer. Maybe I'll even--" he gave a particularly hard thrust and grunted "--heal your wounds. You've lost so much blood, fed me so well."

Quentin whimpered, arching back a little. He could see the real conflict, the struggle of not wanting to beg but needing to. "Please," he whimpered.

"That's the first word," Eliot agreed. "Keep going."

A sharp exhale. "Please, master, please...fuck me," he tried.

"Almost there, pet. One more try."

"Please fuck my hole?"

"'Please, master,'" Eliot recited. "'Please fuck my needy hole and make me come, even though I don't deserve it.'"

Eliot was becoming very familiar with this needy, frustrated huff Quentin made when Eliot needed to stop teasing soon, and when Quentin spoke, the need in his voice was real. "Please! Please, master, please fuck my needy hole, even though I...I don't...deserve it," he gasped.

"What a lovely pet." Eliot let his cock slip free and pushed a finger into Quentin's ass without preamble, trying to make quick work of stretching him. "Knees down, pet, relax for me. There you go," he encouraged, following him down as Quentin relaxed on the bed. Eliot grabbed a pillow and stuffed it under Quentin's hips, keeping his ass up at the best angle.

Quentin was working with him, working to relax, so it was in relatively short order that Eliot was replacing his fingers with his cock. Quentin made a sound like he'd been stabbed, and it made Eliot throb.

"I know, baby boy," he breathed, setting a hard pace. "I mean, pet, shit. I know, pet," he corrected, then laughed. He was too fucking horny to keep acting well. "You've been so fucking good, so good, you're so beautiful," Eliot breathed, laying kisses across Quentin's nape and upper back.

Eliot gasped out as Quentin shouted and went tight around him, squeezing his cock hard. "Oh fuck," he moaned, forehead pressed into Quentin's hair. "You're so good, you're so good, coming for Daddy without any touching at all, you're..." Eliot trailed off, and it was his turn to cry out as he came, hips shoving hard against the cushion of Quentin's ass. 

He didn't _mean_ to collapse on Quentin, but it was all he was really capable of at the moment. Fortunately, Quentin seemed pretty wiped too. Eliot just laid on him for a minute or two, catching his breath, then sighed. He let out a little groan as he pulled out, then reached up to undo the belt, so Quentin could move, but not untying him yet.

"I want to keep going a couple of minutes," Eliot whispered, kissing Quentin's ear. "Okay?"

"God, how can you..." Quentin nodded, though, and Eliot grinned. He tucked the ends of the belt into Quentin's hands for him to hold onto, or let go of when he wanted, then pulled back, flipping him over onto his back again.

"Oh, look at you, pet," he purred, pushing Quentin's legs apart to show himself. "So debauched for me, so beautifully... _utterly_...mine." 

Quentin watched him apprehensively, and Eliot held the gaze as he slowly lowered himself. He only closed his eyes to run his tongue up the sprout, long and slow, and wrap around it again.

"Oh, fuck," Quentin whimpered, legs jerking. "No, you can't...stop, please, stop..."

The pain sounded a little too real, and Eliot lifted his head. "Color?"

"Green, green," Quentin gasped, and Eliot got back to it, sucking and licking the way he hadn't gotten to beforehand, knowing that the pleasure was just torture when he was already so wrung out. Quentin's hips were jerking and stuttering up and down, like he couldn't decide whether to try to thrust into Eliot's mouth or run from it. Eliot lifted up, still rubbing it with his thumb, long enough to see that Quentin was holding the ends of the belt tight. He smiled and went back to it, humming loud around it to make Q feel the vibrations.

For a little while, Eliot entertained the idea of doing this until Quentin safeworded or begged, but honestly, he suspected his boy was too stubborn to do that until he was really in a bad place, and no one wanted that. So instead, he pulled off after a while, crawling up over a shaking Quentin to whisper in his ear.

"You've been so good for me, pet," he murmured. "You're beautiful. I wish I could keep you. But unfortunately..." He let that hang in suspense as he pulled back, looking Quentin tenderly in the face and stroking fingers through his hair. "I can't have you telling anyone about our evening, can I?"

Quentin's eyes sparked as he got it, playacting fear again, but mostly, Eliot saw positive things on his face, eyes wide and the corners of his mouth turning up. "No, I won't tell, I'll be good, please don't-"

"Shhhhh." Eliot laid a finger over his lips. "Don't make this any harder than it has to be, pet."

He laid a line of kisses down Quentin's throat as he begged, slow and gentle in contrast to Quentin's frantic pleas. On his upper chest, just next to the edge of the binder, Eliot found the fleshiest spot available with his lips. He reared back, flashing the fangs (he hoped) one last time, then bit down and sucked hard.

He'd intended to make this the darkest, most painful mark so far, but frankly his jaw muscles were fucking tired, so it just ended up nice and red -- enough to linger and maybe ache, but nothing compared to some of the others. Eliot laid his head on Quentin's chest, looking up at him adoringly. "And scene," he said with a grin.

Quentin grinned back, lazy and satisfied, and let his head fall back on the pillow. " _Fuck._ "

"Right? That was fun as hell." Eliot pushed himself off and knelt next to Quentin to help him let go of the belt and unwind it from his wrists. Eliot fumbled it just as it came free, where it fell behind the bed.

"Oh, whatever. I'll get it tomorrow," Eliot sighed, starting to lay down, then stopping. "Do you need to pee first?"

A long, heartfelt groan.

Eliot giggled and got off the bed. "Come on, baby boy, I'll help you walk. Real fast, then we can snuggle here. We can stay the night, even, if you want," he said as Quentin started to pick himself up. "I moved enough stuff here. As long as it's clean by Monday night we won't get caught."

"No, I wanna be in your bed tonight," Quentin said, shaking his head as he got to his feet. He stood there a moment, seemingly making sure he was steady, before starting toward the bathroom attached to the room. "At least, in the morning. Maybe a nap first."

"Nap can do," Eliot said, kissing the side of his head and leaving him at the door of the bathroom. He leaned against the wall beside it as Quentin closed the door. "We should talk about it tomorrow," he called through it, letting his head rest back. "You should always do that after a formal scene like this. What worked, what didn't, things we learned, so we can do it even better next time."

"Pretty sure better would kill me," Quentin responded, and Eliot could hear liquid hitting liquid. 

"On that note, should I be worried about how horny you were for that death scene?" Eliot asked, unable to help grinning.

Quentin was't responding yet as he opened the door, but he frowned when Eliot looked over at him. "Where'd your fangs go?" he asked, reaching out and thumbing Eliot's chin. "They were there a minute ago."

Eliot kissed his fingertip. "Illusion magic." He explained the manner of the casting, and how the illusion lasted as long as the food was in his stomach. "Guess it passed through," he said with a shrug.

"So..." 

Eliot waited a moment, then stood, wrapping an arm around Q to bring him back to bed. "Go on, say whatever dumb, nerdy shit you're thinking."

"So tomorrow you're literally going to shit magic?"

Eliot just rolled his eyes. "What a romantic," he said, giving Quentin a little push to lay back down.

~

Eliot helped Quentin unhook his binder so they could nap, cuddled together under the thin blanket. Soon enough, though, it became clear the building's heat wasn't on, and Eliot hadn't planned for the cold, rainy night. When Quentin started shivering in his sleep a little, Eliot woke him and helped him dress, slow and unhurried. He made Q drink some Gatorade (pink, objectively the best flavor) while Eliot got dressed and took his makeup off, with a package of wipes he'd stashed. He checked his watch, and saw that it was just about midnight, not horribly late.

Quentin looked over when he emerged from the bathroom and kind of lit up at seeing him. It stopped Eliot in his tracks. "What?"

"Nothing," Quentin said, shaking his head. "You just...look like you again."

Quentin was definitely getting kisses for that, Eliot attacking him all over his face until Quentin was squirming and laughing, trying to push him off. Smiling, Eliot took his hands and pulled him to his feet, wrapping a secure arm around his shoulders to walk him to the door. 

They took their time with the walk back, huddled together in the chill, though thankfully the rain had stopped, at least temporarily. The sky was still a flat, light-absorbing black, no stars and heavy in a way that suggested more rain was coming, but the dry at least lasted long enough for them to get back to the cottage. The party was in full swing, as expected, and everyone was just drunk enough for Eliot and Quentin to get up the stairs unharassed. 

"I'm hungry," Quentin said as they reached the second floor. 

"Yeah, me too," Eliot agreed. "Let's get you showered and in bed, and then I'll come find us food, okay?" He made a note to grab things that would keep until morning, because Q was almost definitely going to fall asleep in the time he was gone.

But when he finally opened the door to his room, something smelled good. Eliot looked around and spotted a tray sitting on his desk with two plates of...what appeared to be one of those family-size frozen dinners which someone had portioned onto two plates and spelled to stay hot, but it smelled nice without being particularly aggressive. Probably loaded down with sodium, but Eliot was finding himself not giving a shit.

"Can I shower after?" Quentin asked immediately, looking hopeful.

He was too cute, and Eliot smiled and kissed his head. "Okay, but you _do_ have to shower. Take your shoes off, baby, and go sit. Drink another one of the Gatorades on the nightstand."

Eliot spotted a note on the tray and picked it up. He smiled, seeing Margo's handwriting. _Tell him he's a good boy from me._


End file.
